


forelsket

by seditonem



Category: Chronicles of Narnia RPF
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, i like how 'drug use' and 'recreational' drug use are different tags, u know ur stuff here on ao3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seditonem/pseuds/seditonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What?” Ben asks, defensively, and then, “oh, right, sorry, do you want something to drink? I’ve got some red wine open if you -”</p><p>“Ben,” Skandar says, bluntly, “you’re high.”</p><p>(contains mild drug use of the recreational sort)</p>
            </blockquote>





	forelsket

Skandar arrives at Ben’s house five minutes early and hangs around on the doorstep, feeling the back of his t-shirt rub against his lower neck. It’s unusually hot this summer, and the air seems heavy all around him. There’s no breeze, and the air smells sweet, tangy - he knows the smell from student flats and dodgy parts of town - weed. He smiles to himself, licks his lips without thinking about it, and rings the doorbell.  
  
When Ben eventually answers it, Skandar’s eyebrows raise up so far that he’s sure he must look comical. Ben shrugs, and stands aside to let him in. “How’s the holiday?” he asks, by way of hello, and Skandar laughs hollowly.  
  
“Kinda boring,” he admits, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He toes off his shoes and walks into the living room. Everything looks exactly the same as it did last time he was here - although that was a very brief look around - the same movie posters on the walls, the same odd collection of paraphernalia from Ben’s travels. It looks like a comfortable house, full of aged wooden floorboards and slightly shabby rugs. Skandar looks back at Ben and sighs at the sight of him.  
  
“What?” Ben asks, defensively, and then, “oh, right, sorry, do you want something to drink? I’ve got some red wine open if you - ”  
  
“Ben,” Skandar says, bluntly, “you’re high.”  
  
Ben sits down on the sofa and huffs out a breath so dramatically Skandar’s almost surprised it doesn’t have theme music. “You’re  _nearly thirty_ ,” Skandar says, throwing up his hands and turning slightly on his heel in frustration.  
  
“Age doesn’t matter unless you’re a cheese,” Ben replies petulantly.  
  
“Or a wine,” Skandar corrects, absently, feeling like he wants to laugh and stare disapprovingly at the same time. Ben’s eyes are red-rimmed, and he’s sprawled all over his sofa. He still smells slightly of weed, even though he smoked it in the back garden, and Skandar feels oddly protective. What if someone finds out? What if someone knocks on the door and demands to know who was smoking a joint? What if -  
  
“Do you want one?” Ben asks, sitting up on the sofa, his eyes a little wider than normal. His lips are wet where he just licked them, and Skandar has to look away.  
  
“Um,” is all he can manage.  
  
“I’m very good at rolling, actually,” Ben says, beaming.  
  
“Oh?” Skandar asks, trying and failing not to sound interested.  
  
“I used to roll my own cigarettes on occasion,” nods Ben. “Back when I smoked.”  
  
“You’re smoking now,” Skandar points out.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” says Ben, looking down at the coffee table. It’s covered in two packets of rizlas, an open packet of tobacco, and a small clear plastic packet of weed. Skandar has abrupt flashbacks to a particularly eventful Friday night during winter and winces a little. “Might as well continue, then?”  
  
When Skandar doesn’t reply, Ben starts rolling. Even high as he is, his fingers are still clever, rolling the paper up and putting in the tight coil of soft card at the end. He licks one end of the paper with the tip of his tongue, then seals it over, twists the end of the joint gently, and taps it a couple of times.  
  
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Ben sighs, “I think I’ll call it Geoffrey.”  
  
“This is such a bad idea,” Skandar says, slowly.  
  
“You can always ask me to stop,” Ben grins, picking up a lighter.  
  
“You’re nearly thirty,” Skandar repeats, petulant even to his own ears. “And I’m in  _Cambridge_.”  
  
“And the only people around are the old woman next door who never leaves her house and the man across the road who practically deals in this stuff,” Ben explains, slowly, and Skandar resists the urge to pout. “And we're overlooking the back garden. We’re not going to get caught, Skandar, really. In any case, most of London is probably doing the exact same thing on a day like today.”  
  
“I feel like we’ve been body-swapped or something,” Skandar says, flatly. “Surely I should be the one advocating this stuff?” Ben pushes open the back door into the garden and Skandar follows him out, despite his best intentions.“Well, be my guest,” Ben shrugs, blinking in the sunlight. He sits down on the old rickety bench beside the open door and lights up. The end of the joint flares up as he inhales before settling down into a comforting glow, tendrils of smoke rising and disappearing into the early evening. Ben opens his mouth, letting the smoke drift out lazily as he passes the joint to Skandar. The corners of his mouth are quirked up, like he’s daring Skandar, laughing at him.  
  
"This is practically peer pressure," Skandar sighs, taking the joint and putting it to his lips.  
  
"Oh, come on, I'm sure you've done this before, so you know what it's like and can say no if you really want to," Ben smirks, and Skandar's eyes are on his as he inhales.  
  
It goes straight to his head, making him sway where he stands, and he gives a little undignified squeak when Ben pulls him down next to him on the bench. Little tendrils of smoke escape whenever he opens his mouth, so Skandar exhales properly and takes another toke.  
  
This one makes the tips of his fingers tingle. He feels warm, oddly safe, and the world blurs a little in the distance. It's only when he passes the joint back that he realises Ben's arm is slung casually over his shoulders, a sort of familiar gesture that normally Skandar would sort of hate. But right now, with whatever there is in the weed buzzing through his veins, it's quite nice, actually. Skandar allows himself to lean into it, his chin resting just against the edge of Ben's shoulder in a sort of awkward hug.  
  
They sit in silence for a moment, until Ben exhales loudly and looks down at Skandar. His forefinger traces wide circles on the material of Skandar’s t-shirt. He moves away a little, and Skandar nearly falls, feeling lightheaded and inexplicably happy. “What’re you doing?” he mumbles, and Ben pulls a face.  
  
“Just - just hold still a second, ok?” he says, quietly, and takes another drag. Instead of exhaling normally, though, he puts a hand on Skandar’s jaw and presses their mouths together.  
  
“What -” Skandar begins, but that just means his mouth is open against Ben’s, and then suddenly Ben’s exhaling the smoke into his mouth. Skandar remembers what he’s supposed to do, tasting the heat and bitter-sweetness of the smoke, and breathes in deep. He can feel Ben’s eyelashes against his cheek, and then rough drag of his stubble, and then it’s gone.  
  
He doesn’t even realise he’s leaning forwards until Ben catches his shoulder with one hand, laughing. “That good, huh?” he grins, and Skandar blushes, looking away. Ben nudges their shoulders together and passes the joint. Skandar’s fingers shake as he takes it, and he’s sure Ben must notice. He takes a drag to avoid the awkward silence, and suddenly realises the sun’s going down. He didn’t realise it was quite so late; Ben had called him spur of the moment, asking him to come over, and since he’d been in the neighbourhood he’d agreed. The whole idea seems much less random now, though, what with the shotgunning and the getting high and - oh god, is Ben trying to  _seduce_  him? He almost chokes on the smoke in his throat and exhales hastily. Ben gives him an odd look, so Skandar inhales again, the smoke burning his lungs, and decides to take a chance.  
  
He motions with one hand for Ben to come closer, and leans forward to press his mouth against Ben’s again. It’s easier this time, probably because they’re  _both_  expecting it, and Skandar can feel Ben smiling. He breathes smoke into Ben’s mouth, keeping his eyes tight shut, because he’s fucking terrified. He feels powerful and ridiculous and a little bit amused - he’s practically inviting Ben on, if Ben’s even making a pass on him; and if he’s not, well, this is going to be incredibly awkward.  
  
The last thought doesn’t last for very long, because one of Ben’s hands comes up to cup Skandar’s jaw, pulling him gently forward, and Skandar feels the joint drop out of his hand. He promptly forgets about it, though, as Ben all but man-handles him onto his lap, licking into Skandar’s mouth as he does so. He kisses like he really means it, a little bit aggressive, nothing like any girl Skandar’s ever made out with. It takes a moment to adjust to, and in that moment Ben sucks hard on Skandar’s tongue, his mouth still in a smile. It’s incredibly hot, and ridiculously provocative, and Skandar shifts uneasily on Ben’s lap, trying not to get hard and failing miserably.  
  
“You ok?” Ben asks, breathing the words against Skandar’s lips. Skandar nods shakily, feeling strung-out and oddly distant, and Ben smiles again, his hands moving gently up and down Skandar’s sides. The movement brings everything back into clear focus: this is  _Ben_ , Skandar’s friend, someone he’s always admired and found attractive. He should probably freak out right about now, but that seems like too much trouble, and his current position is quite favourable. They trade kisses back and forth, hands fisting in each other’s shirts, and Skandar opens his eyes and looks at the darkening sky as Ben bites gently down his neck.  
  
“We should probably go inside,” Skandar mumbles, and Ben  _hmms_  in agreement, but makes no move to get up. If anything, he just moves his hands under Skandar’s shirt, up over his back, nails raking gently along his skin. Skandar hisses lightly; his nerves feel like they’re on fire, and his eyes won’t stay open. He shifts on Ben’s lap so he gets one knee on the bench on either side of him, straddling him now, and Ben makes a pleased sound, his hands slipping down to Skandar’s hips.  
  
Clothes seem unnecessary at this point, so Skandar pulls his t-shirt off, and undoes a couple of the buttons on Ben’s, just enough to get his hands underneath. Ben feels warm, like he’s been lying in the sun, and Skandar can’t seem to touch enough of him at once. They kiss again, and Ben bites lightly at Skandar’s lower lip, pulling their hips closer together. The friction of Skandar’s jeans against his dick, even through his boxers, is enough to make him moan a little, and Ben seems to notice because he does it again, and  _again_.  
  
“Are we seriously going to do this outside?” Skandar pants, as Ben’s hands slip down to his ass, pulling them flush against one another. He can feel the hard press of Ben’s cock against his own, the heat of it palpable even through the denim of both their jeans. Ben nods, leaning down to lick at Skandar’s left nipple.  
  
“I am seriously not moving  _now_ ,” he says against Skandar’s skin, and Skandar bites his lip to stop from making a highly undignified noise when Ben ruts against him again. He can feel himself flushing, and the sudden need to just rock against Ben until he comes rolls over him. His limbs are heavy, the effects of the joint still hanging over him, and juxtaposed with his arousal it makes for a heady cocktail of sensation. He shivers a little in the cooling evening air as Ben unbuttons his jeans, pushing them down as far as Skandar’s spread-legged position will allow, and nearly swallows his tongue when Ben wraps a hand around his cock.  
  
“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” Skandar swears, quietly, and Ben looks at him, grinning slightly. He’s never been so glad of the fact that in the heat of summer he goes commando.  
  
“Good?” Ben asks, as he draws the tight circle of his fingers up and down Skandar’s length. Skandar nods, breathless, and tugs at Ben’s belt buckle. Ben laughs, undoing it with one hand, and Skandar finds it slightly unfair that he has so much coordination when he himself has been reduced to a monosyllabic mess of arousal sprawled on Ben’s lap. His hands shake a little as he reaches down to run a finger along the slit of Ben’s dick, thanking whatever deity there might possibly be that he’s had some experience with this sort of situation before. His hands clench in Ben’s shirt, hanging off his shoulders, and he feels sort of guilty that he’s not reciprocating - but he’d defy anyone to remain in possession of all their abilities when Ben Barnes is wanking them.  
  
“But it would be better if you stopped being a tease,” he says, after a few minutes where Ben does nothing but just touch him gently; not enough to cause his arousal to flag, but not enough to get him anywhere near close either.  
  
“I’m not teasing, not exactly,” Ben says defensively, “just... testing.”  
  
“Is that any better?” Skandar frowns. Ben licks his lips unconsciously and nods slowly, a few strands of his hair falling over his forehead.  
  
“Testing is good,” he says, and looks up at Skandar. He leans forward and kisses Skandar on the lips very gently, and then promptly stops teasing altogether. Skandar lets his head tip back slightly as Ben pulls him closer, so their cocks nudge together gently, and wraps both his hands around them. It’s pretty rudimentary, Skandar thinks, and doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud until he hears Ben snort with amusement. “I like how - ” his speech comes in short bursts, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat now; “I like how you can still manage words like that - uh - while high and, um, aroused,” he manages, and Skandar wants to laugh but can’t muster the energy or willpower because Ben’s hands are still so fucking clever, tugging gently at his balls before moving back up to wrap around the length of him, jerking him off slowly and easily. He can feel Ben’s dick right next to his own, can feel it when he gets a little harder, when something happens that turns him on a little more, when he’s getting close. It makes his brain short-circuit, and then cut out altogether when Ben spits roughly into his hand again and reaches down to finish him off properly. The air is cooling rapidly now, and it hits the back of his neck and sides almost sharply, giving him goosebumps in contrast to the heat between their bodies.  
  
Ben’s index finger swipes gently at the head of his cock, collecting the slightly pearly drops of precome and spreading them over the sensitive skin, and then he brings one hand up and sucks noisily on his fingers, looking Skandar dead in the eye. There’s a glint there like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like perhaps he was planning this, and Skandar’s hands clench so hard in Ben’s shirt that for a second he’s afraid he might rip the fabric. Ben pulls his fingers out of his mouth with an obscene wet sucking noise, and then wraps them around Skandar’s dick, tugging gently and leaning in to bite at the juncture of Skandar’s neck and shoulder.  
  
He comes embarrassingly fast, like he hasn’t since he was fifteen, and Ben chuckles against his neck, sending shivers down his spine. “That was easier than I expected,” he murmurs, his breath coming short, and Skandar tries not to blush. He can feel his own come cooling on his stomach, which is sort of a turn-off, so he wipes his hand through it and slides his slick fingers around Ben’s cock. That abruptly stops any sign of laughter, Skandar thinks, triumphantly. He pushes Ben back against the wooden back-rest of the bench and licks his lips, thinking.  
  
“What’s that look for?” Ben frowns, his eyes flickering between Skandar’s face and Skandar’s other hand, which is tracing feather-light patterns up and down Ben’s cock.  
  
“Just deciding whether I have enough willpower to get down on my knees,” Skandar shrugs, shifting a little so he’s sitting more heavily on Ben’s thighs, making it impossible for him to get up. His jeans are cutting into his legs where they’ve been pulled down awkwardly, and he’s loosing feeling in his toes, but the look on Ben’s face is more than worth it.  
  
“I - uh,” Ben begins, but Skandar cuts him off with a kiss. He figures he might as well take the chance, so he slides off Ben’s lap, trying to keep his jeans still somewhat on, and gets down on his knees. He pulls Ben’s thighs apart, shuffling between them, and pulls Ben’s jeans down a little more, until they refuse to go any further. “Are you sure about this?” Ben asks, and Skandar sighs. Is that even a question anymore? He licks his lips, letting his tongue dart out to touch the head of Ben’s cock. It feels hot against his lips as he gets closer, the head of it pushing gently against the close of his mouth. He opens his mouth slowly, making a show of it, and then takes as much as he can, swallowing his gag reflex. All things considered, it goes better than he expected - it’s been a while since he’s done this - and Ben presses the heel of his hand against his mouth, his eyes clamped shut. Skandar tries not to laugh; if the situation wasn’t so hot, he’d be rather amused by Ben’s expression.  
  
He swallows, wrapping one of his hands around the length of Ben’s dick that he can’t quite fit into his mouth, and then bobs his head experimentally, testing out the feel of it. “This is going to be over rather - uh - fast,” Ben tells him, biting his lip and tensing. Skandar can feel how hard he’s trying not to just thrust into his mouth, and it’s oddly sexy. He lets his eyes fall shut, using his tongue to sweep along the underside of Ben’s cock before pulling off and licking down the length of him. He opens his eyes, then, to look back up at Ben, and pauses.  
  
“C’mere,” Ben whispers, his voice coming out wrecked and husky, and Skandar goes willingly, one hand still on Ben’s cock as he moves back onto his lap. Ben kisses him hungrily, like they haven’t seen each other in months, and laces his fingers through Skandar’s so they’re wrapped around his cock. “Just - yeah, like that,” he murmurs against Skandar’s mouth, as they find a rhythm, and his breath comes short, stuttering every few moments. Skandar presses open-mouthed kisses to his jawline, to the fluttering pale skin of his eyelids, and then Ben presses his mouth against Skandar’s neck as he comes hard, hardly making a sound.  
  
“What was that?” Skandar asks, when Ben mumbles something that’s lost against his skin.  
  
“Your mouth should be illegal,” Ben repeats, resting his forehead against Skandar’s shoulder.  
  
“So you liked it, then?” Skandar grins, looking at the wall behind the bench but not really seeing it. Ben nods almost imperceptibly, his hands running up and down Skandar’s sides slowly. The light has almost faded now, he notices, and it’s getting a little chilly.  
  
“Aren’t you cold?” Ben asks, suddenly, leaning back to look at Skandar.  
  
“Not really,” shrugs Skandar. Ben grins.  
  
“I’ll make you some pasta,” he says decisively.  
  
“Are you still high?” It feels weird to ask Ben that post-blowjob, but at the same time, Skandar’s not sure he’d rather be asking anyone else the same question.  
  
“No, I just - sort of want to make you some pasta?” It comes out like a question, like Ben’s giving Skandar an escape route out of the situation. “If that’s what you want?”  
  
Skandar gets the feeling pasta is not the real question Ben’s posing him. He nods, because his throat’s a little sore, and lets Ben get up. They spend a moment putting on their respective shirts, and then Ben reaches over and does Skandar’s jeans up, standing close enough for them to kiss.  
  
“Pasta it is, then,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.  
  
 **{  outtake --**  
  
Skandar wakes up the next morning without underwear, with the sun shining in his eyes.  
  
“I can’t believe I fell asleep here,” he says, tonelessly. “I was supposed to go back home last night, and it’s practically  _afternoon_  now.”  
  
“It’s before two pm,” Ben mutters, and pulls Skandar back down into bed, wrapping one arm around him; “that’s still morning.”  
  
 **}**

**Author's Note:**

> forelsket is a norwegian word, which is used to describe the euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love. or at least, that's what google told me when i looked it up several years ago.


End file.
